


In the Beginning

by tatterwitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel, Angelic Grace, Blood and Gore, Dean in Hell, Eventual Heartbreak, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Soul Bond, Soul Sex, Violence, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-19 00:51:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4726619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatterwitch/pseuds/tatterwitch





	In the Beginning

Hell is…Well, it’s hell.

Castiel, Angel of the Lord, is ancient, almighty. He’s seen the rise and fall of cultures and civilizations. He’s seen great reptiles rule the world and fall to fire and ice. He’s seen humans evolve and make war. He’s seen so much, and yet, there are no words he can find to describe just how horrendous hell is.

The Pit is the most awful place within hell’s expanses.  It’s darker than night except for the times when lightning streaks through the air. It has no sky, it’s just an endless plane of awful existence. Everything is black and red, tainted with the yellow of bile and white of bone and grey of innards and gristle. The air rings with the sounds of terrible torture and endless agony; of rending flesh and rasping laughter.

Shadowy shapes move in the darkness; small and large twisted silhouettes with gnarled bodies and grotesque faces scampering and galloping in the space. Demons, with their charred remains of souls and bottomless black eyes are everywhere.

Castiel’s mission is a simple one, yet nothing else in his entire existence has ever been this complex, this dangerous. 

Somewhere within the Pit is the Righteous Man, a soul bearing that name and another, Dean Winchester. Castiel has been commanded to find, tend, and retrieve the soul. He and his garrison had breached hell only moments ago. Already he’s lost three angels to the blood-thirsty demons and their hounds.

He can hear the sounds of fighting all around; loud shouts and wet hisses of pain. The bright flashes of angel’s grace flare through the dark, illuminating the Pit in sporadic bursts. Castiel navigates though the cloying blackness using those flickers and the yellow-white bolts of lightning. He passes rack after rack, souls strapped to the supports and wailing, screaming, as demons and hounds rip at them mercilessly. None of them are the one he seeks.

Then, amidst a grapple with a female demon with burning white eyes, he sees one of the brightest lights he’s ever seen.

Castiel has looked upon archangels before. He’s watched cosmos explode and suns shine for millennium. And yet, nothing seems as bright as the subtle bits of light he can see through the dark. He slams his blade through the body of the demon, not caring if the wound is fatal. It’s not his mission to kill demons. It’s to save the soul shining ahead.

His wings carry him though the lightning-streak air. He lets his grace brighten to its full glory as he chases after the small slivers of light.

The soul named Dean Winchester looks up from the rack before him when Castiel nears. The light of the angel’s grace sears through the dark and allows Castiel to see the Righteous Man for the first time. What he sees makes his grace ache with pain never before felt.

Dean Winchester’s soul is a mess. It’s scorched and scarred, charred and bloodied. Through gashes and slices, Castiel can see the flickering light of the Righteous Man’s last dregs of purity. It’s bright, yes, so very bright, but so very dim at the same time. 

Dean Winchester is so very close to losing his humanity.

Castiel reaches for Dean Winchester. The soul snarls and lashes out with a serrated bone blade and a set of broken nails. The soul on the rack lets out a piteous wail as Dean Winchester wheels away and attempts to fight off Castiel.

But the Righteous Man is only a human soul, and no match for Castiel’s might and strength of power. 

Castiel seizes Dean Winchester against his chest and spreads his four wings wide. He soars upward, toward the heavens. And as he flies, his voice raises, deafening and ringing out across the planes of heaven, hell, and earth.

“Dean Winchester is saved!”

The first portion of his mission is complete. Castiel keeps flying until he has reached safety, blasting upward through alternate planes and onward. The Righteous Man is disconcertingly silent in Castiel’s hold. He hangs limply, still and slicked with blood and other things. 

Castiel begins with clearing the mess off of Dean Winchester. 

Blood is cleared away. Then char and years of scorch and damage.

Castiel loses himself in his work, form bent over the Righteous Man as he struggles to piece the man back together again. 

The first time Dean Winchester acknowledges Castiel, it is with a wary sort of demand hoarsely spoken. It’s not verbal, per se, but Castiel can hear the language of souls as an Angel. The Righteous Man’s voice, though damaged and rough, is like music. Castiel pauses in his efforts and manages to form a sort of reply.

The second time Dean Winchester speaks, it is to confirm what Castiel has already told him. And to gruffly ask Castiel to call him, “Dean”.

The following instances leave Castiel forever changed. Castiel finds himself growing…attached to the human soul within his care. 

As Castiel heals Dean; mending the tangled shreds of his soul and sloughing away the years of damage done, he becomes well-acquainted with the Righteous Man. 

He knows every single facet of Dean, every bit of his life and his emotions. He knows Dean better than he knows himself. 

Something forms between them. It’s stronger than anything Castiel’s ever felt before. It’s more than he’s ever felt for his family, his sisters, brothers, and others. It makes Castiel’s grace flare wider, brighter than its ever been. 

Castiel has lost track of how much time has passed since he rescued Dean in hell. Days could have passed, maybe weeks or years. He’s drained, exhausted. His grace is dimmed and barely shines past his form.

Then, Castiel finally glimpses Dean’s soul, whole and complete.

Castiel is speechless. He’d seen the barest hints of Dean’s light shining through the chinks in his form in hell. But this…This is incomparable. Dean is brighter than anything Castiel has ever seen. His light is brighter than Michael or Raphael, brighter than any angel Castiel knows. Dean is beautiful.

Castiel breathes it as he holds Dean in his hands and tries to take in all of that glorious light. Dean seems just as awe-struck as Castiel, gaping down at himself. 

“This can’t be right, Cas.”

Castiel frowns at him.

“Did I miss something?”

“No, at least, I don’t think so. It’s kinda hard to tell with me lookin’ like a fuckin’ night-light.” Dean mutters the last bit. “I just…”

Castiel waits. Golden-green eyes turn up as Dean’s soul lights with conflicting colors.

“I shouldn’t be this…This bright, Cas. I’ve-The things I’ve seen, done, in my life, in hell-I shouldn’t get to be like this. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve any of this.”

Castiel’s grace wrenches, hitching with a burst of pain. He reaches out to Dean, his hands settling over Dean’s shoulders. 

“No, Dean. You deserved to be saved. You deserve only good things and you are destined for truly great things. Greater things than you can imagine. You are not your circumstance, Dean, you are your strength.”

Color flushes through Dean’s soul as he tries to escape Castiel’s hold.

Castiel, without a thought, reaches up and frames Dean’s face within his palms. Dean freezes, whole form stilling abruptly. His eyes widen before fluttering shut as Castiel smooths his thumbs over Dean’s cheeks.

Pleasure and the craving for it and reassurance flare through Dean’s soul in streams of color. 

“Cas,” Dean’s voice is warm and soft as it skates in the air between their forms.

Castiel can feel the longing, can see it there in those colors.

“Dean, you’re amazing. The most beautiful soul I’ve ever beheld. You’re good, so, so good. Full of light and life and loyalty. You are righteous. You are loved. I love you, Dean.”

Those green-gold eyes fly impossibly wide. Dean’s mouth drops open and he quivers in Castiel’s hands.

“You-You can’t mean that, Cas. not really. I don’t-I’m not-I don’t deserve-”

Castiel silences Dean with the simple expedient of pressing his lips to Dean’s. Dean melts against him, making a soft noise of pleasure; following after Castiel when he pulls away.

“If anything, I’m the unworthy one, Dean. The sheer power of your soul…” Castiel kisses Dean again, getting lost in the soul for a long moment. “You amaze me, Dean Winchester. I love you.”

Dean’s eyes seem about to overflow, glimmering in their joined lights. Castiel wishes he could see Dean washed in the light of his grace without the taint of exhaustion dragging at his limbs.

“I-Me, too, Cas.”

The truth of Dean’s words ring across the minuscule distance between their forms. Castiel’s grace, however haggard and worn, leaps wildly. The small light dances over the pair of them as they move closer; hands roaming and bodies colliding. 

Dean’s soul lights up with the exquisite shades of pleasure as Castiel learns his shape in a new manner. Castiel can feel his grace reaching for the very core of Dean’s essence as the two of them move together. 

Dean’s head kicks back as he keens in bliss. Castiel’s grace burns into Dean’s soul, right at the place he’d first touched the Righteous Man, where he’d gripped him tight and raised him from the depths of the Pit. The mark of a hand-print shines a blue so bright and pure it’s nearly white. Dean cries out and his orgasm is like watching a supernova explode. Castiel follows helplessly, feeling himself light up in the same way.

The last time Castiel holds Dean soul, the Righteous Man kisses him once before Castiel pushes his soul into his body and revives him.

It takes the last of Castiel’s energy and sends a shock-wave throughout the land nearest to Dean’s resting place. Castiel, himself, is called back to heaven.

The first time Castiel sees Dean in the vessel with messy dark hair and a long tan coat, he’s struck by the light seeping from the man’s skin. Dean’s soul shines in his eyes. Castiel’s mark is visible to his eyes in the way a small scrap of his grace gleams beneath the raised skin.

Green eyes are wide as bullets spray. They only widen when Castiel steps in close, plucking the knife free from his chest after Dean plunges it deep in his skin. His grace flitters in his vessel restlessly. 

“Who the hell are you?” Dean snarls, body tensed and heart hammering with fear.

Castiel feels his grace cry out, reaching for its shreds within Dean; begging the man to recognize the angel before him. Surely Dean must know…But there is no recognition in those wide eyes. Castiel can’t help but wonder if this is how angels feel when they fall. Is this feeling why some rip free their grace and plummet earthward, never to be seen again? Maybe…Maybe it is.


End file.
